Those Who Are Lost
by takanexharuka
Summary: The Cottage was a place made for broken children. A place for lost children. And so it begins, the story of a runaway, a not-so-carbon-copy-as-one-may-think, and the home they both unknowingly need. Harry runs away at age nine, and by a turn of fate, meets and joins Draco, who is also a runaway. All that is broken can be saved, and the boys are no exception.
1. It was a Pleasure to Burn

Hello! This fic starts Pre-Hogwarts, and will follow Harry and Draco through their Hogwarts years. If this fic is well received, updates will become more regular, but as it is my first fic, frequent updates are questionable at the time being. This will eventually turn into Draco/Harry when the boys get older, but they are still small, so nothing yet. Please review or whatever, criticism is welcome!

* * *

 _Somewhere, In the Forbidden Forest-Spring_

 _I am not lost._ Harry thinks for what seems like the hundredth time. But Harry is quite sure he has seen that rock at least three times, and that tree six. It all just looks the same. Even so, Harry continues his journey through the woods, with nightfall on his heels. With nightfall brought fear, and Harry had no means of light. He can just barely hear a crow's haunting calls in the distance. He shivers, and continues on his lonely trail, remembering his oath to never return to his so called 'family.' He can feel the forest's almost human-like feeling, wild and unpredictable, answering to no one.

There was also a slight ringing noise in his head, and Harry was not quite sure of the reason.

"I am not lost..." Harry whispers, pushing his broken glasses farther up his nose. He looks through the cracked lenses, partially squinting due to it not being his actual prescription, but a cheap pair bought by his 'Aunt Petunia' when he was five. She had bought them when she realized that Harry kept missing dust while cleaning the house, and they effectively covered his piercing green eyes. But as the sky got darker and Harry could barely see his feet, he broke his resolve to move forwards and decided to just rest. _At least it's better than the cupboard,_ Harry thinks, remembering the ice cold cupboard he slept-no - _lived_ in, stomach numb from not being fed for days. He could last a day or so in the woods. It would be no worse than a few more days on only a singular can of soup.

But even so, Harry was only a day over nine. If he dare say so himself, he was _scared. What would the future bring?_ Harry struggled with knowing the fact that he was alone in this place. However, he whispered softly to himself, saying "Be brave, you brought this upon yourself. You'll never have to see _them_ , again." And so Harry found a flatter piece of ground, gently moved his clothing around, and quickly fell into a fitful, sleep.

* * *

He dreamt of his uncle. Hundreds of miles away, he was still under his thumb, pliable and yearning for affection. All Harry could picture was his great large prunish face, his sausage fingers jabbing at his face. It was only a broken picture frame, of his cousin Dudley, looking rather like a beach ball in his new schools's uniform. He hadn't even meant to have broken it. Dudley had tripped him while he had been serving breakfast, and he nicked the side of the frame while he fell. But Uncle Vernon saw it as an unspoken threat for his family, and when Uncle Vernon was threatened he only ever seemed to get angrier.

Harry remembers as if it were only hours ago, he could still feel was the way he held the lighter under his face, a mere centimeter away from singeing his hair. He could still smell the pungent odour of burning skin, the way he felt a pull on his stomach, starting to dry heave from the wild look in his Uncle's eyes, the pain searing through his head, trying to not cry out.

Crying out only ever made the punishments worse in Harry's experience. His uncle had attacked Harry's scar, the little lightning bolt scar on his forehead, the one thing Harry actually liked about himself. All that was left of the scar was blistered skin and a strange dark crimson bloodlike substance gushing out of it. And then he was here, in the forest, his last meal being a stale piece of bread from the prior night, just a tad bit thankful for even that small amount of food.

* * *

Harry woke up to a small voice beneath his foot, urging him to wake up. He wasn't sure if it was real or not, but a beautiful scaled snake seemed to be trying to get his attention. _"Follow me, young snakelet. There is someone you should meet."_ It said, nudging at his foot to make him go faster. Harry, with lack of better things to do, and nothing to lose, decided he would follow the emerald snake. For the only thing Harry could control was his life, his existence, and it wouldn't really make much of a difference if he lived or died. So what if the snake was just a ploy to kill him, it wouldn't really matter now, would it? With this, Harry heaved up his bag and followed the snake.

He soon learned of what the snake was leading him towards, and was thoroughly surprised at learning he wasn't alone in the forest. When Harry first saw him, he swore he saw an angel. He silently thanked the snake, before it went slithering off into a brush. For a second, he thought he saw wings as the sun passed through, but Harry was sure that was only a trick of the light. But here was the blonde boy, silently crying.

The boy seemed like he was in his own world, seeing nothing of the forest around them. He seemed ethereal, untouchable, as if he was on a whole different dimension. It was then that the boy, with his strange regal facial structure, and high cheekbones, seemed to notice Harry. When he locked eyes with Harry, Harry quickly glanced away, trying to stop the awkward tension from growing.

It was at this point of time that Harry decided to observe the surroundings he had landed himself in. There was a rundown but quaint cottage that seemed to blend in with the surrounding forest, the light shimmering throughout it like a mirage. The cottage also had the strange, ethereal feeling about it, which Harry couldn't quite place.

In a few minutes, the boy seemed to gather himself, silently taking note of his surroundings. "I-if I may ask, who are you?" the blonde questioned, trying to look condescendingly down at Harry, but failing to with his red rimmed eyes and slight stutter.

"Harry. Harry Pot- Just Harry."

"Draco." the blonde boy murmured. It was at this moment that Harry saw red on Draco's left arm, not quite processing this, but later whispered, "You're bleeding, let me help." Draco scoffed and looked away. "It's nothing. In fact, you're looking a bit peaky, even worse than I do."

"Gee, thanks." Harry replied sarcastically. Upon further investigation, Harry noticed Draco's scar was clearly from a knife, with harsh bruises around his arm, which were fading by the second.

Eyes wide, Harry stared at the wound, at last realizing that this boy was undeniably _human_ , to which brought a great amount of embarrassment to Harry. Harry exclaimed, "This place must have healing qualities or something…It's like m-magi-" before quieting, frightened that Draco might be the same as his aunt and uncle. "It's magic, what did you think it was?" Draco snapped. "But _magic_ isn't real!" Harry exclaimed, while wringing his hands nervously. Uncle Vernon always punished Harry when he said the M-word. Draco sighed audibly. Of _course_ he had to be stuck with some clueless, possibly muggle kid. But either way, they were stuck in the same situation. Sighing, Draco skipped over the topic, determined to tell him later about magic.

"Do you have a place to stay, Just Harry?" he asked. Harry thought for a moment before quietly responding,"C-could I possibly...maybe…if not i-inconvenient… Join you here?"


	2. Do I dare? Disturb the universe?

Hello! It's me again. This story is also on AO3 under the same name and user. I am more used to AO3 so likely will update there before

Please review! I don't bite ^-^

* * *

 _The Cottage, In the Forbidden Forest-Spring_

The Forbidden Forest was sentient. Not that many knew. The heart of the forest was always pounding, shaking trees and forcing animals out of their hiding spots. Of course, the Forest knew that two young boys were residing in its depths. The Forest has seen lots of students from its years, but never students as special as these children. The Forest provides what is needed, helps to protect the lightning bolt boy and the star child, a home, a shelter, someone to trust.

* * *

Somewhere, in the Forbidden Forest, a small raven-haired boy asks "C-could I possibly...maybe…if not i-inconvenient… Join you here?"

Draco looks up in shock, looking into Harry's eyes to understand what he was thinking, noticing the shaky hands, the nervous pulling of Harry's overly large shirt, and quick breath."If you must, I suppose amends could be made. However, you must know that I don't actually live in this cottage all the time. My house is just past that hill." he replies, pointing to the left. Harry barely hears Draco mumble "They always know I will return." A murder of crows take flight when he finishes speaking, leaving a rather ominous feeling with Harry. Wringing his hands, Harry quickly blurts, "The forest is my home now." To which Draco gapes openly. "But- there's werewolves! And centaurs! Merlin knows what else is in this forest!"

"The forest is my home now." Harry repeats, a little intimidated by all of these potential threats. "I've known worse" he notes, thinking of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. This statement leads to an awkward pause in their conversation, in which Draco tries to process what Harry is saying, and Harry thinks of his so called "family."

"Wait, _werewolves? Centaurs?_ " Harry says in disbelief, effectively breaking the silence. Draco sighs. "Come inside, I will show you around, explain some things." Draco announced, before grabbing Harry's hand and dragging him along.

* * *

The Cottage was a lovely place, and it too held a heart. You could feel the protectiveness of the home within its slanted walls, the well-loved wooden flooring, and the red brick fireplace in the living room. You could tell the love put into building such a cottage, not necessarily with that much experience, but with care and passion. The house itself was built in an octagonal shape, with an airy entrance hall through the door with hallways branching off. Small squirrels and other small creatures often ended up in The Cottage, for it was often oasis of heat and crumbs, provided as needed. Of course, it was a magical house; The Cottage could do whatever it desired. The Cottage welcomed the boys with open arms, willing to take a chance with their flawed pasts, looking to help them grow.

Harry already loved the Cottage, much like how the Cottage loved him. He loved the sounds of nature around them, the leaves rustling in the wind, the distant noise of hooves clapping. Harry even loved the vines that crept up the outside walls, hiding it from unwanted outsiders. He loved the view that could be seen from the Western Bedroom, which he easily claimed as his own. It was painted dark blue in colour, and had a nice, cozy alcove, in which Harry could see the stars at night.

Harry always felt a connection to stars. They had always reminded Harry of his parents. He never knew them, but they _had_ to be better than the Dursleys'. Harry's primary school teacher once told him that the stars were actually loved ones looking over you. That was before his "Aunt" took him out of school of course. Something about getting better grades than Dudders, not that that was difficult of course.

He wondered if his parents were proud of him. He had of course, very few years of actual learning at _school_. Harry had never got to learn his parents' names, only that they were "terrible, disrespectful _freaks._ " Harry decided since Aunt Petunia called him "freak" also, it must have meant that his parents must be wonderful people. Anyone "Auntie" thought were "freaks" often were the best kind of people to Harry.

Of course, Harry didn't have to worry about "Aunt Petunia" any longer, for he never had to see her again. He smirked.

"Harry, let me tell you about magic," Harry's head flicked up at the _m-word,_ eyes wide as saucers. Draco strode into his room before falling precariously at the edge of his bed. "There's no such thing." Harry shakily whispered. To this, Draco shook his head, a single blonde lock falling out from behind his ear. "I don't believe you," Harry stated, with a little more volume. Sighing, Draco said "Do you want proof?" to which Harry slowly nodded his head.

Draco searched around in his pocket for a few moments before pulling out a chipped clear glass marble. Draco shook his head at the sight; a _muggle_ toy, none the less. Draco closed his eyes, concentrating, feeling his magic stir within him, trapped somewhere deep in his bones. Tapping into his magic core, he released a little bot, waiting for the magic to unfold. Watching intently, Harry gasped in delight when clear colour started turning into a pale blue, soon deepening into a night blue sky. The marble was even complete with tiny flecks of white being the stars.

Catching his breath, Harry managed "How'd you know?" To which Draco chuckled before saying, "Harry you've been looking at the sky for half an hour, did you think I wouldn't notice?" before gifting Harry the marble. "You will have much more use for it than I will," Draco proclaimed, silently watching Harry get red in the ears.

Draco didn't seem to know, but that was the first present Harry had ever gotten since he was only a year old. Even though it was _magic,_ it hadn't felt evil and _freakish._ In fact, he never felt so alive. Even though Aunt Petunia said that magic was abnormal, and Uncle Vernon constantly told Harry magic wasn't real, Harry couldn't bring himself to care. They were surely wrong, for Harry had thought magic felt rather familiar, something that was stolen away from his hand when he was but a year old. It felt nice in his heart, fuzzy, almost like something Harry dare not think of yet; _home_.

 _"_ _Draco, i-it's beautiful" Harry breathed, caressing the gift within his palm._

* * *

 _Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts Castle-Spring_

Severus Snape was enraged. Not that he'd show it of course, he was raised a Slytherin and knew how to conduct himself. So instead of "accidentally" slipping a select few people an undetectable poison, maybe Bellatrix or even his dear old friend Lucius, he decided instead to take it up with Dumbledore.

Severus Snape had always seen Draco Malfoy as his son. He had practically raised the boy, except for perhaps Narcissa. Lucius Malfoy, although a good business associate, had never been a great father, and depended on Draco to somehow raise himself. Sure, he provided the funds to raise Draco in a beautiful manor and the such, but lacked the emotional attachment to his own son. Snape himself was there when Draco had night terrors during the early morning, prepared with a Dreamless Sleep Potion. He was there when Draco realized his father didn't care much about his own opinion, trying to arrange a marriage neither Draco nor the pureblooded witch in question had desired. Snape was present when Draco went through his horrid "wait till my father-" phase, along with his last moments in the Malfoy "family." Severus had been there in all the ways Lucius and the others weren't, always there to offer advice or criticism, to help tutor and raise Draco. It hurt all the more to know Draco was gone.

Now, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was sitting quite comfortably in his throne-like chair, oblivious to all misfortune going around as close as a few miles to Hogwarts, and one right outside his office. Silver instruments cluttered the office, whirring and beeping and stirring constantly, and Fawkes the phoenix hung from his perch, cawing softly.

It was into this setting that Professor Severus Snape burst through the doors angrily. "You swore you would protect him." He said harshly, his eyes glaring through the thin façade of Albus Dumbledore. "My boy! Would you care for a lemon drop?" Albus asked good-heartedly, however lacking his characteristic twinkle in his eyes. Sneering, Severus rejected this offer. "Where's Draco? You promised me, you told me you—could protect him. Yet where is he now?" he demanded. Dumbledore dishearteningly replied "I do not know, my dear boy. If only you could brew me the potion—"

Severus interrupted "Albus, you know very well as much as I do, that _idiotic magic-tracking potion_ is _illegal_. Not only that, but you need the blood of the many powerful wizards, a crime punishable by death. I would be of little help in _Azkaban_. Just like you have with myself, those wretched Gryffindors, Harry, even _Lily_ , you could not help. With all due respect, sir, we are not pawns for you silly little game of life and death. Goodbye."

Exiting the office, cloak billowing behind him, Severus found his way back to his own laboratory. He prepared his equipment meticulously, murmuring under his breath "You think we will sit back, watching our kids grown for _slaughter,_ our friends _murdered,_ our own lives a duel to the death. " A wild look appears in Severus's eyes, a bit reminiscent of the young Tom Riddle. Face strangely calm, Severus eerily intones, _"He killed my godson. And he will pay for what he did."_


	3. A Great Misfortune to be Alone

Hey I'm back! This chapter is kinda dark (warning you now), but hope you enjoy!

Reviews are welcome, I don't bite!

* * *

Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts Castle-Spring

Dumbledore was furious. The aging wizard sat in his throne-like chair, eyes enraged and feral, the defining twinkle noticeably absent. The silver gadgets he trusted so much were spinning wildly, unsure of what happened to the famous "boy who lived." Portraits mumbled worriedly behind him, questioning the Headmaster's state of mind. His beard was scraggly and unkempt, and his fashion more atrocious than usual, including a neon yellow dancing pineapple robe. With a pause, the old man sternly asks "Where's Harry?" to the pitiful squib Ms. Figg. A small tuft of cat fur falls off her sleeve as she wipes her eyes. Harry had been quite good at taking care of her cats (which were actually part kneazle) from the larger neighbourhood bullies. "I told you all I know Albus, I just don't know where he is! He hasn't been out in a while. I told you-I told you not to trust those horrible people, you didn't listen!"

Albus let out a frustrated breath before saying "Are you sure you don't know anything Arabella? The Dursleys' haven't said anything?"

"All they said was that they were 'glad to be rid of that disrespectful boy.' Albus, I told you not to trust them!"

Albus was getting quite annoyed with Ms. Figg's screechy voice in his ear while he was thinking. The boy was no longer at home, where could he have gone? What place would provide refuge for Harry. Was Harry's case somehow related to that Malfoy boy?

"Be gone, you no longer hold any purpose for me." Still whinging about Harry, Arabella let out a cry before shuffling towards the floo. "I told you, they weren't treating him right, why wouldn't you listen for once?" Shaking her head, she passed through the floo without as much as a glance back.

Shuffling through his desk the headmaster at last pulled out a book titled "Darker Potions For All Your Needs," flipping to the place he needed. "If Severus won't make me this damned potion, I'll make it myself. I've been preparing myself for such actions for years."

It was at this point the Headmaster moved his way over to where he stored memories for the Pensieve, spinning around the storage compartment showing a whole different rack holding a series of flasks, some notably emptier than others. Each flask had a single name written on it, all of the Professors' names and then a Molly Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Cornelius Fudge, Lucius Malfoy, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Lily Evans-Potter, and lastly a Harry Potter. Getting the boy's blood was actually quite difficult, as the Potters and the "Uncle Padfoo and Uncle Moo Moo" were always watching over young Harry. In fact, Sirius had caught him in the act of stealing the blood, and had to be removed. Dumbledore always had a soft spot for the boy, and had only thrown him in Azkaban, rather than death.

Dumbledore was soon pulled out of his thoughts and at last brought out the flask labeled "Harry Potter" in crimson ink. Chuckling quietly, the headmaster began the potion, quite content with his good fortune.

* * *

The Cottage, In the Forbidden Forest-Spring

Harry was in heaven. Not literally of course, but in his own life knew he could never be this happy. Even his dreaded appearance had changed, the welts from what Harry called "the burning" were entirely gone, leaving pale baby soft skin behind, a contrast to Harry's usual dark tan from working out in the sun. It looked as if someone had splashed an eggwhite paint on his body. Draco had told him it was part of the "healing magic" of the cottage.

But why was he healing? Where were the Dursleys'? He knew the Dursleys' would find him eventually, and would be furious at the mention of "healing magic." Harry didn't understand all of this kindness, he had done nothing to deserve this. Harry knew he was a "freak," in fact he once had thought that was his name before he went to primary school. So why did Harry deserve such a wholesome person like Draco? This is the Draco who left an hour ago to find food for the both of them. He wanted Harry to eat too. He just didn't understand. What if-What if he was contaminating Draco with his freakishness? What was this warm feeling of "belonging" in his chest?

It was these thoughts that led Harry under his bed, into a darkness he was familiar with from his times with the Dursleys'. Often a time, Harry had spent days in his cupboard under the stairs, with no light but the strip underneath the door. It was comforting in a strange way, knowing he was safe from Vernon's harsh hand, Petunia's strict words, and even Dudley and his henchmen's bullying.

Harry could hear Draco returning, could hear the long creak of the heavy front door swinging inwards. "Harry! I found some fruits and nuts for us! Come on, let's eat! I even filched some eggs from that oaf Hagger or something's chickens." Draco called. Draco had gone very close to the edge of the forest getting the eggs, and felt quite nervous about it. What if someone had seen?

Harry, who still felt bad for tainting Draco stayed quiet as a mouse, looking silently at the boards holding the bed up.

Draco soon found himself in Harry's room, looking in the alcove first, then on top of the bed. At last, he looked under the bed, finding the smaller boy hidden in a corner, barely having to crouch to fit under the bed. Sighing, Draco found himself crawling under the bed to where Harry was. "Come on Harry, tell me what's wrong. Do you miss your friends or something?" Harry shook his head, not wanting Draco to know that Draco was in fact, his only friend. The closest thing Harry had to a friend at the Dursleys' was the spiders in his cupboard. "Harry…Please tell me, I can help."

"It's just, I can't help but feel that I'm…tainting you. With my-you know- my freakishness." Harry whispered. "Harry, is this about your magic?" Draco asked wearily. "No, the m-magic feels familiar, if that makes any sense. It's just, it's me. I'm a freak. You shouldn't come to close or you might catch it." It was at this point Harry started crying, silently and almost unnoticeably.

"Harry, please. Who ever told you that was a liar. You don't deserve that kind of treatment. Harry, please come out and eat now." He reached out his hand to Harry, his sleeve slipping up a centimeter to reveal a dark shape. Harry continued crying, until Draco sighed and pulled the rest of his sleeve up. "Do you see this, Harry? Do you know what this means?" Harry looked down at the words, eyes wide with tears. Property of T. it read, but Harry did not understand. "Harry. My parents. They were on the wrong side of the war. They were on the "dark side" ruled by a Dark Lord named V-voldemort. My mother was pregnant with me at the climax of the war, when the Dark Lord was facing a threat from a prophecy. The prophecy said that one day he would be defeated, by a young boy born at the end of July. My mother was around eight or nine months pregnant when he learned of the prophecy, in May, and children tended to be born late in my father's family." Harry sniffled, wiped his eyes then leaned on Draco's shoulder.

"I was born in July" Harry whispered, almost unheard by Draco. Draco nodded, then continued " My parents went into hiding, to protect the family, and me from growing up on the wrong side of the war, maybe even as the prophecy child. My parents knew they couldn't hide forever, that the Dark Lord would know. They went to a man named Albus Dumbledore, who in exchange for my "safety" forced my father into spying on the Dark Lord. Dumbledore had promised them that he had put protections on me to keep me safe and alive. The Dark Lord found out of course, but still needed my father for politics and his wealth. So instead, he claimed me. He made a deal with my parents to keep my alive only if he could have me for himself. As an offering of peace. I soon learned that those 'protections' that Dumbledore had put on me only kept my heart beating in times of distress and a weak consent charm that would last until adulthood. No one would be able to touch me without my permission. It did its job well, and I was left untouched by the Dark Lord, only to have this-this horror etched into my skin. It's never going to come off-not even by healing magic. It was made with a powerful dark magic that can only be removed by the caster himself. Once I'm 17—I'll have no protection. I'll be the Dark Lord's possession, as good as dead ."

Harry still had tears in his eyes, but at this point so did Draco. Harry leaned in to hug Draco, to which Draco melted into his side, burying his eyes into Harry's shoulder. "My life, Harry, my life isn't my own. One day I'm just going to be shipped off to the Dark Lord as some sort of toy. If anyone's a freak, I am." Draco had known that in getting him here to even this relative safety his parents would've died. Or would be forever in hiding once the Dark Lord realized his toy was gone. Draco didn't know which one would be a better future for them.

Harry slowly crawled towards the outermost part of the bed. "Come on Draco, let's go eat," he whispered, pulling his hand towards the outside. "We don't want your hard work to go to waste, do we?" Then, the two broken boys hand in hand, went to go eat their food.

* * *

Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey-Spring

A row of even, cookie-cutter houses lay next to each other, each with perfectly manicured lawns seem almost identical except one little detail. On Number Four Privet Drive, a large walrus like man is packing boxes into the stereotypical suburban family vehicle, a grey SUV with leather seats with the backseats pulled down for more room.

An equally large, walrus-like boy whines "I'll miss the new episode on at eight Mum! Why don't you care about me?" The fat boy started dramatically crying, fake tears pouring down his face.

"Dudders! You know I love you, but we've got to leave an obstacle. They can't know we left! You have to leave your second TV." The skinny mother replied, her horse-like neck stretching to talk to her shorter son.

"But-but-but" Dudley blubbered,

"Do you want some of those—freaks coming to our house looking for us? We've got to go! Now with that rebel of a boy gone we've got to leave here! What a nuisance I say!" The large walrus husband scolded.

The husband pushed his family into the car, slamming the doors. "Never speak that freak's name again!

They leave the house seemingly full, albeit a few pieces of technology and a few pairs of clothes. This was to make sure the neighbors wouldn't notice they had gone straight away, throwing off anyone who may be following them. All was seemingly the same, except for the small cupboard that lay under the stairs, the contents burned and forgotten, leaving no evidence to point at the small boy that was once called Harry Potter.

The only thing the Dursleys' didn't count on perhaps, was the silver tabby cat that sat a bit too still for an ordinary cat, gazing at the Dursleys' with a bit more contempt than one would be used to in such a cat, furious for the young boy with green eyes.


End file.
